


when we dream

by Red



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: F/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Pregnancy, pre x-men apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7070542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night on the run, Erik wakes to a nightmare. </p>
<p>It's not his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when we dream

The first time he lies to Nina, she’s not yet born. 

Winter, the second he’d spent with Magda, back when they were still living in town; when he was just beginning to get used to the shape of a new life, of a new name. They had realized Magda was pregnant months earlier, but the reality of _that_ fact? Erik had been sure that much would never set in, even then.

As it was, he _had_ been able to sleep again. Between his exhaustion from work and the warmth of Magda’s body after so many years alone, he was easily lulled in those days. He slept hard and deep, and when he dreamed, he could very nearly forget them again. If he woke up sweating he could almost always fall right back to sleep, eased from his terror by the sound of Magda’s breathing, by reaching out to feel the constant beat of her heart. 

But that night, when he jolts awake gasping for air, he knows immediately it isn't a nightmare. 

It’s completely dark in their room, silent save for the rasping of their breath. 

Carefully, he grabs Magda’s arms. 

“Magda,” he wheezes, once he’s loosened her grip enough to manage it. “Wake up. Magda, _Magda_ —” 

She mumbles something unintelligible and shifts her weight on top of him. She’s straddling his chest, making it hard enough to breathe. Her hands tighten on his throat.

“Magda…” he works his fingers under hers, prying at her chokehold. “Please. It’s me. It’s Erik.” 

There was a time he wouldn’t have thought of that any comfort. Once, he was nothing else than a threat to someone like her—to a human. 

Once, he wouldn’t have thought anything of using his powers, his full strength to defend himself. 

He feels light-headed. He squeezes at her wrists, hard; they’re both going to be bruised come morning. 

“Please,” he coughs, pleading once more. “Wake up. You’re safe, you’re with me, with Erik—”

And, little as he may think of his words being true, it works. 

Magda gasps, letting go of his throat suddenly. 

“What?” she asks, sounding bleary and confused. He can’t see much in this light, but he knows how she must look, that particular mix of fear and embarrassment all too familiar to him. “ _Erik_? Oh, no. No—are you all right?” 

She pets over his face and throat, checking for injuries in the darkness, and he stills her hands. 

“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” he coughs. 

Magda swears, and rushes to get off him so she’s no longer kneeling over his chest. 

“You say that, but,” she starts, fumbling for the lamp. The dim light casts her in harsh detail, her hair tangled and her face drawn and pale. She’s obviously less than pleased with how he looks, too. She curses and gestures for him to tilt his head, inspecting the marks blooming around his neck. “This, again. I told you... You shouldn’t be sleeping in here at all.”

Erik laughs, his voice still rough and hoarse. “Then I wouldn’t sleep at all,” he admits. 

Magda scoffs. 

“Better that than waking up dead,” she says, giving up on looking at the damage to rub at her own face. 

Erik watches her silently, considering what to say. Wondering if there _is_ anything to say.

“Twice this week,” Magda continues, when he says nothing. She grips either arm, holding herself tightly. Erik doesn’t know if he should touch her or not—if she’s still shaking off the weight of her memories, if he’d just do more harm than good. “I don’t know why I keep doing this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she lies. 

She's still a little thin, but not too much so. They have enough, she can eat for the baby, too. Like this, with the weight of pregnancy, with her arms folded up and the light so dim he can’t see the marks history left on her… He can _almost_ believe it, when she says things like that. 

Erik doesn't know everything about Magda, there's things they just don't speak of. But he can guess. There’s so much suffering in this world. 

If for nothing else, Erik always found Charles’s power to be incomprehensible for that fact alone. Before, Erik had always been alone in his pain. Being with Magda, he wonders if—impossibly—he’s starting to understand. Perhaps pain can be more than a source for his rage.

He looks at Magda for a long moment. She’s still wan, sweaty from terror. 

He’s used to his own powers as being merely destructive, to them being a thing to be feared, a threat. It’s easy to hide them when he’s with Magda, because he assumes she—like any sensible person—would only run at the sight of them. 

But in that moment, in the vulnerability and solitude of the night, he finally reaches for her. 

“This time, I’ll be able to protect us,” he says. He only half-believes it himself, but what’s that matter? As long as she believes it, as long as she can get back to sleep… 

Isn’t that what matters, now? 

He puts his hand on her stomach, and casts out for all the metal in the room. The lamp, the keys, Magda’s brush and necklace and hairpins—for everything he has, save for their rings—and winds them through the air. Around their bed, he makes a canopy of metal, of spires pointing outward, a barrier between them and the world. 

Magda doesn’t look concerned at all. She breathes out, leaning against him. If anything, she’s relaxing under the display.

“And you, too,” he murmurs to the swell of Magda’s belly. “Nothing will happen to you.” 

“Me and your mom,” he says (certain—even then—that he couldn’t possibly be telling the truth), “we’ll always keep you safe, I promise.”


End file.
